


Coming Home

by helens78



Category: Wanted (2008), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 1960s, Crossover, Doppelcest, Doppelganger, Inspired by Art, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Wesley finds out what's been happening in Charles's life, he stops tracking down the last few members of the Fraternity and comes home.  There's no way Wesley's going to let Charles risk his life without backup.  Takes place in the XMFC chronology (with Wesley's experiences in the Fraternity moved into the 1960s to match).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Charles and Wesley](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/9705) by Raffi. 



> This was inspired by [](http://raffi.livejournal.com/profile/)[](http://raffi.livejournal.com/)**raffi** 's beautiful Charles/Wesley artwork. **Please click to see the full-size image and to leave feedback for the artist!**
> 
>   
> [ ](http://raffi.livejournal.com/266787.html)  
> 
> 
>   
> 
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> _You smiled and then the spell was cast  
>  And here we are in Heaven  
> For you are mine at last_  
> 

Wesley walked through the halls at Xavier Mansion quiet as a mouse, subtle, _fast_. He wasn't usually the kind of guy who went for subtlety, but holy shit, they'd fortified the joint since the last time he'd been here, and he had a feeling that some of these people were all about fire-energy-bolts-first, ask-questions-later.

Especially after all the shit that had gone down in Virginia. Wesley still felt sick, thinking about that-- thinking about _Charles_ walking back into that, who the hell did he think he _was_ \-- but screw it. He was here now. He was _here_.

He was here, in the big-ass mansion that Brian Xavier had managed to leave to the _good_ kid, and if it weren't for Charles's memories of this place, Wesley wouldn't have the first fucking idea where he was going. But he did, and he moved down the hall, avoiding the creaky floorboards, pulling his lockpicks out of his back pocket. Simple three-pin lock, it was like Charles _wanted_ company; it took Wesley less than a minute to set the pins in place and turn the cylinder.

He closed the door silently behind him, even locking it afterwards, and moved over towards the bed. Ten feet, eight feet, six feet... he slid his jacket off, bent down to put it on the floor. Four feet, two, he was at the side of the bed now, mind as blank as he could get it--

He tried moving, reaching a hand out, but he was frozen in place. Charles flipped over in bed, squinting into the darkness.

"Hey." Wesley flashed him a smile, all teeth; if Charles could see anything in this kind of light, it'd be the teeth. "Do I have to hang out here all night, or are you going to say 'welcome home'?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Charles said, reaching up to his mouth to cover a yawn. He reached over to the bedside table and flicked a lamp on. "The prodigal usually returns at something a little less absurd than--" he glanced over at the brass clock across the room, lit just enough now to tell the time. "A quarter past two in the morning."

Wesley would have shrugged, if he'd been able. "Traffic was hell. You know how it goes."

"I know how it goes," Charles said, scrubbing at his forehead. "What are you doing here?"

"What the--" Wesley rolled his eyes, stopped talking-- he was going to raise his voice high enough to attract attention if he kept going at this rate. Thoughts were easy to form, easy to push forward to Charles; they'd had enough practice at it. «What the hell do you _think_ I'm doing here? Did you think I didn't hear about your pet project in Richmond? Did you think I wouldn't find out what _happened_ to that place--?»

Funny how this worked: all it really took was Wesley's thoughts in his mind to heat Charles up, get him scrambling over to the side of the bed, pulling Wesley down into it.

«I should have called, I'm sorry,» he sent, frantic, shoving at Wesley's shirt. Wesley was giving as good as he got, unbuttoning Charles's pajama top and jerking it off his shoulders. «I'm safe. I wasn't there.» Wesley felt some regret from Charles about that, guilt that he'd somehow _let_ it happen, but everyone else on the fucking planet could burn for all Wesley cared. The rest of them weren't _Charles_.

«You're not safe,» Wesley threw back at him, pinning Charles against the mattress. «You're not safe, you're still a fucking target. Haven't I taught you _anything_?»

«Yes,» Charles thought archly, one hand slipping down between them, catching Wesley between the legs. «But I can't do anything about it while you're in all these clothes, now can I?»

«This conversation isn't over,» Wesley promised, but he pulled back, stripping out of his clothes as fast as he could. Charles was finishing with his pajamas at the same time, kicking covers out of the way so there'd be nothing between them. Wesley finished dropping his clothes at the side of the bed and tackled Charles again, hands moving down Charles's body as his mouth sought Charles's out.

Charles caught Wesley's chin in his hand and kissed him, hard, just the way Wesley remembered. «Missed you.» He flicked his tongue across Wesley's mouth. «Come on. Let me in, Wesley. Let me in...»

«Let _me_ in,» Wesley countered, nudging Charles's legs apart with his thigh. «C'mon. You missed me, right? Let me in, and I'll let you get caught up on everything while I fuck you...» He drew back, sucked two fingers into his mouth. «Everything. All six months. It's been a while.»

Charles hesitated-- long enough for Wesley to reach between them, get his fingers down to Charles's ass. But Charles froze him in place, _again_ \-- there were times Wesley _seriously_ thought Charles had the better mutation-- and shook his head.

«If you think I'm letting you fuck me with nothing but spit _again_ , think twice,» Charles sent. «In fact, think six or seven more times.» He slid out from under Wesley, crawling over toward the nightstand, and along the way he made that an order: Wesley's mind filled with images and memories, the last six or seven times they'd been together, Charles's mouth hot on his, his cock in Charles's hand, his hips working hard as he fucked Charles's mouth, his ass, Charles deep inside him, body _and_ mind--

«You win you win _you win_ ,» Wesley got out, past all the layers of memory. He collapsed face-first onto the bed, groaning into the pillow as Charles came back to him. Charles swept a hand down his back and bent his head down to lick Wesley's shoulder. «You first. Go ahead.» He spread his legs a little wider. «All yours.»

«You're definitely that,» Charles thought, and even the thoughts felt heated. « _Mine._ » The kisses on his shoulder turned suddenly into one sharp bite, one that Wesley could already feel would leave a mark. Wesley took a deep breath and shuddered as he let it out. «That's it. Go ahead, let yourself think it. Mine--»

«Yours,» Wesley agreed, shifting, moving up on hands and knees. «What kind of invitation are you waiting for?»

«That'll do nicely,» Charles thought, a laugh ringing through it. «Stay like that for a moment, would you--» And Wesley froze in place again, waiting for Charles to do whatever in hell he was planning to do.

He heard the soft metal scrape of a lid twisting off a jar, and sent Charles a touch of curiosity. Charles didn't have to answer with mental images; a few moments later Wesley _felt_ it, cool and slippery, no odor to it, just enough slickness to make this much, much easier than it had any right to be. Charles had three fingers in Wesley already, the stretch and burn making Wesley groan over and over in Charles's head, but Wesley couldn't shift, couldn't move to get those fingers any deeper.

«When did you get to be such a goddamn tease,» Wesley thought, trying to send the thoughts over roughly-- but it was no use, he was sending Charles all his pleasure at the same fucking time. Charles answered with a mental laugh of his own, and then his fingers were gone, his mind sending Wesley just enough of the question for Wesley to answer, «Hell yeah, I'm ready. Come on. Do it.»

Charles came up on his knees, behind Wesley; Wesley could feel the thick hot weight of Charles's cock pressed against his thigh. «All of it? Are you ready for that?»

«All of it,» Wesley confirmed. «Get _in_ here.»

«God. I missed you,» Charles sent, bracing a hand on Wesley's hip-- and then he was moving in, his cock driving deep into Wesley's body. No mercy, oh God, Charles wasn't usually this rough-- but with whatever in hell he was using for lubrication, he probably knew he didn't need to be gentle about it.

Six months. _Six._ Too long to be apart; Wesley felt the burn and stretch, Charles's cock going in hard, _deep_ , but Wesley just braced himself on the bed and pushed back, trying to get more. Charles slid a hand up Wesley's back, grabbed hold of his shoulder and started drawing him back into the thrusts. «Mine,» Charles sent. «Every inch of you.»

«Every inch of _you_ ,» Wesley sent back, unable to help the humor lacing the thought. Every inch, yeah, all those perfect hard inches, driving into him again and again, making him crazy with need _already_. «Yes. _Yeah_ , Charles, _yes_...»

«Ready?» Charles asked, but he only waited for the slightest sense of agreement before he pushed in again-- not into Wesley's body this time... well, yes, into Wesley's body, he had a rhythm going now, he wasn't stopping... but now he was pressing his thoughts into Wesley's mind. It wasn't rough, the way Charles was being with his body; if it weren't for the fact that Charles wanted Wesley to know he was there, Wesley wouldn't have felt it at all. But he could feel Charles merging with him, everywhere, the comforting warmth of his presence filling Wesley from the inside out. Even from the very first time they'd done it-- shared memories, shared emotions, shared _selves_ \-- it'd felt like Charles belonged.

Charles had spent the last six months finishing at Oxford, continuing his research-- and then out of the blue, one day, recruited to help the CIA... investigate? research? study? work with, help, _recruit_ mutants. Wesley's disbelief rang through Charles's head; Charles shook it off. God. Charles trusted these people? Wesley didn't, _wouldn't_. Someone needed to watch Charles's back.

Oh, but hey: there _was_ somebody, wasn't there. Wesley could see him in Charles's memory. He could feel the attraction and the interest sparking between them every time they talked. _Erik._ Fished out of the water, brought home, a dozen little moments it could have been more--

Wesley reached back, grabbed the hand Charles still had on his hip. «You promised,» he thought, his grip tight on Charles's hand. «You _said_. You don't belong to anyone else. You're _mine._ »

«I'd never say otherwise,» Charles promised, but he stopped where he was, buried deep in Wesley's body. He drew Wesley's hand up, behind his back-- it could've really hurt, if he'd meant it to, or it could be what it was, a moment of sweetness as Charles bent down to kiss the inside of Wesley's wrist.

He drew away altogether, helping Wesley roll onto his back.

«Look at me,» Charles insisted. «It's always been you. _Always._ »

Wesley grabbed Charles and dragged him down again, wrapping his legs around Charles's waist. «So fuck me.»

«You don't need to be jealous of Erik.»

«I'm not. I'm _not_ ,» Wesley insisted. «Just fuck me.»

Charles brought his mouth down on Wesley's and kissed him, and Wesley kissed back, his tongue stroking hotly against Charles's, licking into his mouth the way he'd fuck Charles's ass if he could get Charles to roll over. Was he _jealous_? No. Christ, no, because he knew-- he _knew_ \--

He took a deep breath as Charles lifted up, pushing Wesley's knees to his chest. Charles sank in again, and this time Wesley could see him-- the look on his face as he pushed into Wesley again and again, the sweat starting to glisten at his temples, that _mouth_ of his, the one Wesley saw in the mirror every morning and didn't give a damn about, not unless it was the version that belonged to Charles. He could see Charles's heartbeat under his skin, rapid and strong and heavy. Wesley could slow down his own perception of time if he wanted, and times like this, he was tempted to-- Charles fucking him in slow-motion, every inch of him moving in and out of Wesley until Wesley was going insane from it.

They weren't just brothers. They were _blood_ , and _breath_ , and Wesley pushed his own memories forward, offering them up along with his body. «Take it. Take everything, take it all...»

All these months tracking down the last remnants of the Fraternity, looking for hidden cells that were still weaving secrets into fabric. Day by day, finding the corruption, working through one brother or sister after another who'd felt they knew better than fate who should live or die. All the looms, gone; all the members of the Fraternity, dead or hidden--

Charles sucked in a breath and stopped, eyes closed tight. «You can't just--»

«You know why. I don't have to show you why.» Wesley arched up, got a hand behind Charles's neck. «I need you. Please...»

Nodding, Charles started up again-- mind first, then body, and his mind streaked through Wesley's, no more delays, no more lingering. The Fraternity in pieces, and then the news about Charles. The wreckage of the Virginia installation. The mansion, suddenly back in working order. Charles's friends, colleagues; all these people trying to take a stand against someone too dangerous to be left alone...

Charles took Wesley's hand and _moved_ , and this time it wasn't Wesley's memories he was searching for. He found what he was looking for, Wesley's pleasure centers all open and exposed for him, Wesley's need pushing Charles to more and more arousal, a higher and brighter sense of _need_.

«I'm with you,» Wesley sent, and Charles gasped, jerking hard at Wesley's mind. It got Wesley arching off the bed, crying out, almost screaming with it, and Charles was no better, shoving into Wesley and shouting for him, coming inside him as Wesley came all over himself, the two of them finally _one_ again for the first time in too long, _together_ , in sync.

* * *

Charles didn't sneak as well as Wesley did, but at least he was less likely to have someone ask who the hell he was, what he was doing there. Twins or not, Wesley had a different haircut, different clothes, carried himself differently-- he could fool people who didn't know Charles well, but he didn't know if he could fool a house full of mutants, all of whom were on edge after the recent attack.

It only took a few minutes for Charles to gather up the bare minimum of supplies. He came back to the bedroom with warm, damp towels and a glass of water. Wesley took the latter, gratefully, while Charles stripped out of his dressing robe and availed himself of the former. Once Charles was clean, they traded; Charles finished off the water while Wesley swiped the towel over his chest and then dropped it on the floor.

"How long are you planning to be here?" Charles asked, softly, but out loud. He slid back into bed, skipping the pajamas this time. Oh, _nice_ ; Wesley was going to have to take advantage of that.

Wesley wrapped himself around Charles, his hand settling at Charles's shoulder, one of Charles's arms around his back. There'd been other people over the course of Wesley's life-- and more these last few years, since the Fraternity-- but nobody felt like Charles did. They matched up everywhere, fit together perfectly. Wesley nuzzled Charles's neck; Charles turned his head to face him.

"How long?"

"Until I can fucking sleep at night without worrying about you." Wesley raised an eyebrow. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Charles murmured. "No, I don't have a problem with it."

Wesley settled back down on his chest. "Catch a nap," Wesley told him, sliding his hand down Charles's side to his hip. "You're going to need it."

* * *

They managed a few hours of sleep between getting caught up-- again, and again, until they were spent and well beyond exhausted. In the morning, though, the soft noises from the mansion let them know that their stolen night was over.

"Someone going to come wake you up?" Wesley asked through a yawn. Charles wasn't quite ready to move yet; Wesley laughed softly and kissed his back, high up between his shoulderblades.

It might have turned into something else if there hadn't been someone outside the door, about to knock. It was impossible to know who noticed the guy first-- Wesley, with his enhanced senses, hearing his footsteps outside, or Charles, with his telepathy. After all the memory-melding from the night before, Wesley would know those footsteps anywhere; Charles didn't have to tell him who it was.

He did anyway. «Erik.»

 _Erik._ Wesley bared his teeth; Charles sighed and rolled his eyes.

«It isn't what you keep implying--»

« _Yet_ ,» Wesley insisted. «But I know you. I know where you want it to go.»

«Then aren't I lucky you're here? You can keep my virtue intact,» Charles thought, reaching down to the floor for his pajamas. The first knock came, not too loud. «He would have to be punctual.»

«Sure he would,» Wesley thought sourly. «Go on, let him in.»

Charles slipped into his pajama top. «Not yet.»

"Charles?"

"Come in," Wesley called, doing his best impression of Charles's accent. For two words, it didn't have to be very good. Charles quickly arranged the covers over his lap and glared at Wesley.

«I locked the door,» Wesley smirked-- for about three seconds, before the ramifications of _metal-bending_ hit him full-on.

Charles sighed. « _Now_ you think of it,» he sent, as the lock twisted easily and Erik swung the door open.

"Charles, I--"

Erik stopped, struggling to get his expression flat and neutral. And-- okay, Wesley could see it. He could understand what Charles saw when he looked at Erik. Tall, slim-- just this side of skinny, actually, and if Charles's memories hadn't included Erik in a wetsuit, the sweats he was wearing would've made Wesley wonder whether he was a stick figure under there. Strong jaw. Charles's memories filled in _MC1R mutation, ginger hair_ , and Wesley tried not to roll his eyes at his big brother's obsession with genes.

He was hot enough. Wesley couldn't blame Charles for wanting him. But he still grinned and settled his arm around Charles's waist, smirking over at Erik. Charles shrugged him off, buttoning up his pajama top.

"Well," Erik managed, after a moment. "This is a surprise."

"Do you like surprises?" Wesley asked. Erik's gaze locked onto him, sharpened. "Is it a _nice_ surprise? You like him enough, two's got to be better than one. Double your pleasure."

"Will you _stop_ ," Charles hissed. He ran both hands through his hair; it didn't do much to calm it. He still looked like he'd spent most of the night fucking. Lips still a little swollen, marks on his neck and his shoulders, hair mussed, and Wesley was in similar condition. "Erik-- I suppose 'surprise' is a bit of an understatement--"

"Not terribly. Although the form you've taken," Erik said, eyeing Wesley, "or that Charles _asked_ you to take..." Erik turned back to Charles. "I assume you won't be scoffing when I call you out on your ego in the future."

Wesley looked at Charles and stifled a laugh, shaking his head as he pressed his mouth to the side of Charles's neck, just over a mark he'd left there. «He thinks I'm Raven?»

«Apparently.» All the weariness in the world colored the tone of that thought, and Wesley sat up, trying-- a _little_ \-- to behave. Push Charles too hard on this, and Wesley might end up sitting up despite himself, maybe even walking out the door. _Without_ his clothes. "I can explain."

"Can you?"

Charles glanced at Wesley; he bit down gently on his lower lip. _Can you._ Maybe they couldn't. Maybe neither one of them could ever have explained this: the connection between them, the way it left them needing more than each other's presence. More than just the sharing of memories or the simple touches of brothers or friends.

But fuck it. Wesley was done caring what other people thought. He looked hard at Erik-- and then brightened as a streak of blonde hair became visible over Erik's shoulder. "Hey, birdbrain," he said, reaching out with both arms, "where the hell've you _been_?"

Raven shouldered past Erik and raced into the room, flinging herself into the bed, at Wesley. Wesley caught her and hugged her, and she squirmed around until she was kneeling at his side. "You didn't tell me you were coming!"

"He didn't tell _me_ he was coming," Charles said dryly. By now, Erik's expression had lost the fight to stay neutral; he was staring at the three of them in openmouthed shock. From everything Charles had told him, shared with him, getting one over on Erik-- and having Erik _show_ it-- was an accomplishment. Wesley just kept smiling.

Charles rubbed at his forehead, sighing. "Erik, I'd like you to meet my brother, Wesley Gibson. Wesley, this is Erik Lehnsherr."

"I know." Wesley offered Erik a wave. "He's told me all about you." He tapped his temple. "Quicker that way."

"Your-- brother."

"More than that," Wesley snapped. "A lot more than that."

"Clearly."

" _Erik._ " Charles looked up at Erik, hurt all over his face, expression pleading. Wesley scowled in response. Since when did they have to defend themselves to _anyone_?

Raven slid off the bed and headed for Erik. "It's complicated," she said softly, taking his hand. "It's okay. They've always been like this."

"Always?"

"Since we were about thirteen," Wesley offered. His mouth clicked shut so hard he almost bit his tongue, and he turned his head, facing Charles and glaring.

"Behave and I won't have to muzzle you," Charles muttered. «Will you just accept that this isn't easy for me--»

«He's that fucking important?»

«You saw. _You_ saw it. You know exactly how important he is.» Charles turned to face Erik, and tried again. "Erik--"

"Is he like you?"

"Like _us_ ," Raven said. "He's a mutant. It's different for him. No telepathy."

"He has above average speed, reflexes, healing," Charles offered.

«Are you going to keep talking about me like I'm not here, or are you going to let me go? Let _go_.» Wesley's glare finally got through; maybe Charles couldn't see it, but he could sure as hell feel it in Wesley's mind. Charles let him speak. "You bend metal. I bend _bullets_ ," Wesley said, sizing Erik up, giving him the full-on once-over that Charles had spent the past few months trying to be discreet about. Whatever. Charles wanted to make him jealous with this guy? Two could play at that game. "Want to see?"

* * *

Out on the path behind the mansion, Erik stood ten feet away from Wesley. Not far enough for Charles's taste, but Wesley overruled him.

"I could do it at _one_ foot. I could do it head-on," Wesley said. The gun felt good in his hand, as familiar as anything ever had. Charles had frowned when Wesley first brought it out, but he would have frowned a lot more if Wesley had brought something out of the basement storage for this. Wesley still wasn't sure Charles knew about everything that was down there, although with all this training he'd been doing, he was probably going to find out.

Still. Erik was important to Charles; Wesley wasn't going to trust any of the guns they had tucked away in the basement for this. He needed _his_ gun, _his_ bullets. He jerked his head, signaling Charles and Raven out of the way, and nodded to Erik. "Are you ready?"

Erik was light on his feet, his whole body oriented toward Wesley. Wesley expected a little distraction-- a flick of his eyes back towards Charles, maybe-- but Erik stayed focused, staring at Wesley and his gun, steady, chin up, a challenge in his expression.

«I don't want him hurt,» Charles sent.

«I can shoot the wings off a fly. I think I can tag his sweatshirt without actually drawing blood. Besides, he seems to think I'm not going to get him. You think he's that good?»

Charles didn't answer, but he didn't have to. Wesley remembered everything Charles had ever seen Erik do, every piece of metal he'd moved since the night they met.

"You always used to tell me I apologized too much," Wesley said out loud, glancing back over his shoulder at Charles.

"Another life," Charles offered.

"Yeah, well-- in this one? You still _worry_ too damned much."

He dropped, cocked his arm back, _spun_. The bullet left the barrel and moved toward Erik, curving, twisting in midair, going right where it was meant to--

\--and then flying away from him, past Erik and into the empty back lawn of the grounds. Erik grinned, big and broad, and lifted one hand, crooking his fingers. Wesley felt the Beretta vibrate in his hand. "Come on. Again."

"One was enough," Charles protested.

"One was nothing," Wesley said, grinning right back at Erik. "Am I right?"

"Easy," Erik confirmed. He raised an eyebrow at Charles. "If you're concerned about litter--" He held a hand out toward the lawn; the bullet came flying back toward them, fast enough it might have been nearly as dangerous as when Wesley had shot it in the first place. It stopped a fraction of an inch away from Erik's palm, and Erik took it in hand, then tossed it over to Charles. Charles caught it and put it in his pocket, sighing.

"Can you take two?" Wesley asked. Erik's eyes went a little wide, and this time they _did_ move between Charles and Wesley. It was perfect timing; Wesley fired off two fast rounds, straight-on, curving them just enough with the flick of his wrist to avoid hitting Erik in the chest.

It didn't matter. Erik stopped them in place, letting them fall and plink harmlessly to the ground.

"You're good," Wesley admitted, letting his gun drop to his side. "Would've been nice to have you on my side in Chicago."

Erik glanced back at Charles; so did Wesley. Charles's lips were pressed together a little too tightly for Wesley's taste; he walked over and got an arm around Charles's waist. "You worry too much," Wesley breathed, and kissed him.

* * *

"I've got good reason to worry," Charles said, later on. Wesley had seen a little of everything by now: the egghead with the big feet racing Charles around the grounds; the experimental suit for the kid with the energy bolts; Erik pitching the redhead off the satellite dish-- now _that_ was funny, good to know the metalbender had a sense of humor-- and Raven, shifting into her natural form and showing off her ability to lift weights. Wesley had smirked and offered to take her to the mats, see if that strength could turn into some good hand-to-hand combat skills. They'd been running late to dinner by then, though; they'd have to get to it some other time.

"Shaw," Wesley said. "You're worried about him?"

"I'm worried about what the fight's going to do to _them_." Charles tucked his hands into his pockets, looked down at his feet as he came to a stop. "This isn't what I wanted for them."

"So leave Shaw to the governments to deal with. You don't owe the feds anything."

"It's not about the government agents. Or the military." Charles looked back up at Wesley. "It's about making sure these people-- our fellow mutants, my _friends_ \-- have something to come home to. Even if they have to fight. Even if they have to make life-or-death decisions, if the moment demands that much of them."

"Some of them are ready to make those decisions. Erik's ready."

"Erik thinks he's ready. I don't know if anyone's ever ready to confront the man they feel created them."

Heat streaked up Wesley's spine; he jerked away from Charles before Charles could finish reaching for him. "You don't know a goddamn thing about that," he snapped. He remembered every instant of that kill, every detail. Sloan's surprise, when he realized Wesley wasn't sitting in that desk chair. Pulling the trigger and ending that chapter of his life. "Sometimes it just fucking _feels good_. Maybe it'll be like that for him, too."

"Feels good," Charles repeated. This time he froze Wesley in place so he couldn't pull away. "And you've been chasing down the rest of them ever since because it felt good, because it was enough--"

Charles let him go, but Wesley wasn't jerking back, not just yet. He set his jaw, glared at Charles. "So what?" he asked. "What do you think I should be doing instead? Because I'm not going back to that pathetic excuse for a life I _was_ leading."

"Stay." Charles put his hands on Wesley's shoulders this time. "Stay here. With me. You saw what we're doing here. This isn't like your vendetta against the Fraternity. This is more than that. You can _be_ more than that."

"What do you think I can be, if I stay here?" Wesley leaned in despite himself. "I know how to file taxes, and I know how to kill people. What else am I good for?"

"Find out," Charles urged him, sliding his arms around Wesley's shoulders. "I'm not giving up on this endeavor just because the bloody government isn't financing us anymore. When this is over, there's so much good we could do. Gather others like ourselves. Find mutants, and bring them together-- help teach them. Guide them. Show them that their abilities aren't something to be afraid of, they're something to use."

Wesley swallowed. "You could be talking about starting an army..."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a school."

"Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters?" Wesley made a face. "Hell of a mouthful."

"Maybe so." Charles clung to Wesley, forehead resting against his twin's. «You've never complained about mouthfuls with me before...»

Wesley couldn't help laughing at that. «Okay, fair enough.» He took a breath. «I'm going to be a lot more useful to you in this fight against Shaw. I don't know what the hell I can do with a bunch of mutant kids.»

«We can start there,» Charles sent. «As long as you promise you're not leaving just yet.»

«I'm not leaving yet,» Wesley sent back. He slid both hands onto Charles's waist, grinning just a little at the slight scratch of wool under his palms. «I'll say this for you,» he thought, running one hand around to the back of Charles's sweater vest. «You already dress like a professor.»

Charles laughed. «I want you to be here for that. I want you to be here to see it. Promise me.»

Wesley took a breath. He'd taken longer leaps of faith for a lot less reason.

«I'll try.»

«Not good enough. _Promise._ »

«You stubborn bastard,» Wesley thought, leaning in. «I promise.»

Charles kissed him, and Wesley held on, thinking it again. «I promise.»


End file.
